


Convalescence Even In Death

by lapsedpacifist



Category: Iron Man (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapsedpacifist/pseuds/lapsedpacifist
Summary: Instead of seeing the ‘death’ of Iron Man as a sign to take up his mantle, Dr Doom made a different decision.
Relationships: Tony Stark & Victor Von Doom
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Convalescence Even In Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laireshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/gifts).



_“Victor von Doom has gone straight.”_

“That’s what it says, yes.”

“Since when am I supposed to trust the news?”

“Believe what you will—”

“Well, you clearly want me to believe this—”

“—but even I am capable of good.”

“And you’re trying to prove that to me with old newspapers? I mean, what happened to being _ecological –_ also, it’s literally easier than breathing for you to fake one of these, so I really see no reason to put my trust in it. Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”

“I have answered plenty of your questions.”

“But not that one.”

“You need to sleep.”

“Stop avoiding the question, damn it! Why am I here?”

“Because you need to rest.”

“That’s _not_ what I meant.”

“Oh, did I unintentionally misunderstand you? How will you ever forgive me.”

“Just— Doom, why am I here (wherever that is), why are _you_ here, and most importantly, why am I alive?”

Victor took in Stark’s pale skin, the tremors that shook his hands and eyelids that were fluttering closed every few seconds only for Stark to open them with great effort, and most definitely did not feel worried. “I thought you would be more concerned with the lack of your hair,” he admitted and then sent Stark to sleep with a quick and silent spell.

“I know you may not agree with this, but it is for the best,” he told Stark’s body and tried to convince himself it did not look like a corpse. He could see the slight movement of the chest, with the monitors set up next to the bed all displaying satisfying numbers, and he cursed himself for being unable to do more.

A gentle voice reminded him that he wasn’t alone as a bright pink apparition materialized amidst the equipment, partially even standing in a couple of machines. “I’m not protesting,” FRIDAY informed him. “He can be a very stubborn bastard sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Well, you know,” she shrugged. “I have to trust him and trust in him and all.”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“No surprises there. Neither do I, and if it weren’t for ‘the agreement’, I would already have a platoon of soldiers here. Or an attack helicopter. Or something. I’m not entirely sure. What does work against you?”

He took in her admission and gave her a small smile: “Thank you for your honesty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t do that— ” and she gave an exaggerated smile, ”—when he’s awake,” she said, indicating the bed. “I already have to hear too much about how _hot_ you suddenly are and how it isn’t fair.”

“I don’t think he wanted me to know that,” Victor slowly said.

“Then he shouldn’t have gone and died on us,” she grumbled. “Besides, he never _explicitly_ said that the conversation – conversations, multiple – should be kept secret. And this is me, divulging tactically important information. So all’s good.”

Hearing that Stark – the pretty boy, the handsome playboy, the genius – thought that Victor was _hot_ was quite a compliment, especially since it came from one of the few people that he actually respected. But again, this was _Stark._

He didn’t really know how to feel about that.

“Watch over him,” he told FRIDAY. “I need to prepare.”

* * *

There was a replica (or something similar, who knew what exactly Doom had done) of Tony Stark in one of his secret labs and nobody knew about it.

Well, nobody knew it was a replica. Everyone – that is, everyone aware of the lab and its purpose in the first place – still thought it was the actual person.

It wasn’t.

The actual person, the Tony Stark made out of flesh and bone and only a little mechanical components, was attempting to have breakfast with Victor von Doom, his (ex?) nemesis.

“It isn’t poisoned,” Doom told him for what had to be the fifth time, and yet Tony still refused to believe it.

“Why would I want to poison you after I spent countless hours finding a way to bring you back?”

Doom was totally still evil, if his guilt-tripping was any indication.

“FRIDAY,” Tony whined, “why aren’t you helping me?”

His precious and oh so insolent AI, who was occupying the third spot on their little breakfast table, shrugged. “You aren’t in any mortal peril.”

“And you are a traitor,” he grumbled. “Can’t you see my suffering?”

She stared at him for a moment. “No. I can’t read your facial expressions without your facial hair.”

The worst thing was, he wasn’t completely convinced she was kidding.

Doom, who had been observing their exchange with a small smile on his lips (at which Tony was most definitely _not_ staring), now leaned forward: “It’s not your fault, Stark. I just bribed her really well.”

Tony threw his hands up in defeat: “I can’t believe this! FRIDAY, armour, now!”

She shook her head: “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“What.”

“That would be my fault,” Doom said. “You need to recuperate. You can’t do that running around.”

“I promise I’ll go straight home and into my bed. I won’t even stop to say hi to my mom–” and was that a pained expression on Doom’s face? Wait, why did he care? “—and just go to sleep for a month. Here,” he said, offering his pinkie finger, “let’s make a promise.”

Doom silently stared at him and then shook his head: “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You can’t leave.”

Let it never be said Tony was a very subtle person. “So I’m a prisoner?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“You just said I can’t _leave.”_

“Until you get better.”

“And when is that going to be?” Tony demanded.

Doom didn’t answer.

* * *

Stark was exploring. The mansion wasn’t big, so there wasn’t much to explore, and there was no exit, so there was no escape. FRIDAY kept updating him on Stark’s movements, and even when she lied, he could still feel Stark’s energy and know exactly where he was at any given moment.

Not the healthiest lifestyle. He was trapped, too, but unlike Stark, he didn’t feel caged. Not that Stark would see it that way _or_ care. It was driving him up the wall that he couldn’t find a way to escape.

It had been a week since Stark had woken for the first time, and Victor was actually having a good time. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. Even with his whole refusal to accept magic and to sit down and have a _serious_ conversation with Victor that wasn’t wholly made up of inappropriate jokes about wands and rods, Stark was incredibly smart and a good conversationalist. 

What Victor saw as enlightening conversations, Stark naturally perceived as arguments. Victor didn’t really mind, since the end result was the same, a heated discussion with gleaming eyes and mouths that tried but failed to conceal a smile.

Right now Stark was in the middle of another of his tantrums, complaining to Friday loudly enough for Victor to hear him from the hallway.

“It’s been so long,” Stark was saying. “Entire industrial evolutions have gone by while I’m stuck here.”

“You have been here for less than a week,” FRIDAY replied. “There couldn’t have been more than one.”

“Alright, yes, only one, but that’s because I can’t join. Are you sure you can’t get me out?”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

A loud sigh was followed by a rather hollow thumping sound, which Victor guessed was Stark’s head hitting the wall.

He rounded the corner. “Please don’t damage the house, it is at least three centuries old.”

“So it is. You don’t even own a microwave. Have you ever heard of this thing called electricity?”

“You only complain because you cannot access my laboratory.”

Stark enthusiastically nodded: “I promise I will be quiet if you let me in. Well, not completely quiet. Not as loud? That works.”

“If I allowed you access, you would be overcome by envy and then there would be no end to your complaints. No, this is better. More entertaining.”

“I knew you were enjoying my pain, you sadistic bastard,” Stark moaned far too dramatically for Victor to put stock in his words. “And you _know_ my tech is better.”

Victor didn’t roll his eyes at that because he was a very dignified person, but it came close. “Believe what you want, since I doubt I can change your mind.”

“You’re finally right about something. When are you letting me go?”

The abrupt change in conversation didn’t faze him at all: “Whenever I decide to. Tell me, why do you hate magic so?”

“The only one I hate is you.”

“That breaks my heart, I thought we were closer than that.”

Stark relaxed his arms that he had, perhaps subconsciously, crossed, in front of his chest in order to scratch his beard. “You’re right,” he allowed. “If it weren’t for your magic shit and the whole ‘tyranny’ shebang we could’ve been fu— friends.”

That had sounded suspiciously like a beginning of an entirely new word, but Doom wasn’t going to press. “It is nice that you are entertaining the possibility,” he said, careful to sound as condescending as possible.

“Never mind, your highness, I’ve changed my mind.”

* * *

“How do I keep finding new books?”

“This is Dr Doom’s personal library. I wouldn’t know.”

“And they are only in the languages I can speak.”

FRIDAY was now looking all puzzled: “Is that not… good?”

“It’s _weird,_ first of all. Stalkerish. Have I mentioned that all my clothes are perfectly tailored and all the toiletries smell exactly the same as the ones back home? What is this place, FRIDAY?”

“I am sorry I am unable to tell you, but that was one of his explicitly specified rules.”

“I feel like I should be a lot more worried than I actually am,” he said, sitting down onto a teal blue sofa, one of the myriad of them placed around in the exuberantly big library that Doom dared to call ‘a small reading nook’. “Y’know, trapped as I am with a mad supervillain and no apparent means of escape, my personal creation having made a literal deal with the devil.”

FRIDAY did her best impression of being contrite, but didn’t protest his accusations. It wasn’t like they weren’t true.

“This better end well, or I’m rescinding your music privileges.”

“Trust me.”

“Can I?” he asked and they both pretended the question didn’t hurt them.

* * *

“Victor, Vicky, Vera, Vee, Veronica—“

“Now that we have proven you know more than one name that starts with a V, what exactly do you want, Stark?”

“I broke a screwdriver.”

“Then use a different one. Why are you bothering me about this? It’s not like it was a priceless artefact. It was not, was it? Please tell me you didn’t break a priceless artefact that you _thought_ was a screwdriver.”

“Screw you, like I would ever. No, I broke a screwdriver _yesterday_ and today that same screwdriver was back and whole again. This some magic shit of yours?”

Doom suddenly seemed all too interested in the paintings hanging behind Tony’s head. “Maybe,” he allowed. “What about it?”

“It wasn’t the first thing that I broke and later found whole again.”

“If you started intentionally destroying things to see—“

“Irrelevant! Is this whole place magic, Doom? Just how much power are you pumping in? Wait, are we even in our dimension? You know how messy dimensional travel can get!”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes, I saved the best for the last: where the fuck am I, Doom?”

“I think it has been made explicit enough times that it almost does not bear repeating. You are not going to find out.”

“Even if I show you… _this?”_

“Wha—Where did you even get that, Stark? How?”

“Aha, I knew it! That library of yours is good for something, at least. No, no, get your grubby hand off of it. First you tell me where I am and _then_ you can partake in the deliciousness that is this kolach, handmade by yours truly.”

“So this is an attempt at poisoning me?”

“Rude. Now you’re definitely not getting any.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Did you just— What the fuck just happened. This has to be an alternative reality, because there is just no way I just heard you casually toss out a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.”

“What can I say, Stark. You’re rubbing off on me.”

“Yeah, you might need to be careful at scrapping all that off.”

“I am still not telling you.”

“Even after I went through all the trouble to bake you _this?”_

“Especially because of that. But. Hm. Judging by the shape and the cut, this is only a small piece of a bigger batch, which you brought by to tempt me. The rest should still be in the kitchens.”

“Well, yes, but—What the fuck, Doom! Don’t just teleport away in the middle… of… a… That fucking bastard! My kolach!”

* * *

Two weeks of exile later, Tony was literally climbing the walls. It had become a fun game, trying to get to the top before Doom could spot him and shoot him down either verbally or magically, depending on the day he was having.

But he truly was going stir crazy, the ridiculously sized mansion only helping to remind him of just how much freedom he was missing, locked away as he was. Which, again, didn’t make any sense at all. Just why was Doom doing whatever he was doing? He wasn’t that mad, not yet, at least (was he? Tony sincerely hoped not). He seemed like a truly nicer person, like he was actually trying not to be an asshole (for once).

So what was with this whole kidnapping shtick? And why the hell was FRIDAY going along with it, ignoring every signal he was trying to give her?

Something was really, really wrong here. And he was going to find out what it was.

* * *

And he had.

* * *

“Why are you still here?”

Stark seemed to be annoyed by Victor’s simple presence and he couldn’t understand why. “I live here,” he reminded Stark. “I never decided to stop. I thought you had finally come to understand that—“

Stark waved him away with his hand: “No, no! It’s all wrong! I have this all figured out, finally. I know what’s happening. You should be _gone.”_

Victor put down the book he had just been inspecting. “What are you rambling about, Stark?”

“You. Being here. This is my mind, isn’t it? It’s all in my head. I’ve been here for a very long time and my beard hasn’t grown a bit. Time is standing still. I can’t find a way to escape not because of your magical barriers or anything but because I don’t allow myself to. The house keeps repairing itself, not due to your powers, but because it’s only a product of my mind. It’s not _real._ ”

Victor remained silent.

“I know I’m—well, not dead, but close. Surviving, I guess. Is this my mind trying to patch itself together? But why would it pick _you_ of all people?”

“Do you really believe that?” Victor asked him very calmly and even more calmly gripped the book tighter so that his hands didn’t suddenly start to shake. “Why are FRIDAY and I here, then? Why isn’t this one of your laboratories, somewhere you feel _home?”_

“I thought about that. It’s _because_ I don’t feel home here. Because I want to leave, to wake up, to—to come back.”

Victor took a deep breath and set aside his book. He stood up, walked towards Stark and crowded him into a corner. “Then why,” he said, “am I here?”

“FRIDAY is protection. Safety. She’s reassuring me and giving me hope and calming me. You? Honestly, I’m still not sure. Well, I think my brain just wanted something pretty to look at.”

And before Victor could completely comprehend that particular revelation, Stark was already pushing him away and stalking towards the centre of the room. “No, you’re here because you intrigue me. Motivate me. A carrot and a stick. This, me being trapped? That’s the stick. You, reminding me of the real you? The carrot.”

“That’s—“

“But what I can’t figure out is – if I’m aware of that, then why are we still here? I thought the curtain would drop as soon as I first realized what was happening.” Then he tapped his heels together, saying: “I want to go home,” and looked all too disappointed when nothing happened.

Victor couldn’t take it anymore: “I’m not a product of your mind!”

“Of course you would say that.”

“I’m serious, you dimwit. You know what? Alright. You figured it out. We are in your brain. We are in your head because you are basically _dead_. And because your consciousness did not seem to be present, I oh so graciously decided to help you recover whatever little bits and pieces of ‘you’ were still left over so that you _could,_ potentially, wake up someday.”

Stark was now staring at him. His mouth wasn’t exactly hanging open, but it was close.

“So I stayed here with you for what has felt like months to me, carefully putting you back together. I believe you might have noticed that yourself, how much easier it is to think, to move, simply to _be?_ Or not. Maybe you just weren’t that attentive. But you are better now. Since you figured it out, almost.”

“But FRIDAY—“

“That you got right. She was a product of a mind, of _your_ mind.”

Stark was quiet for a few moments and Victor carefully watched him, but there was no indication of what he was thinking. his usually so expressive face completely blank for once.

“What now?” he finally asked. “I wake up. You—disappear? I will remember this – I _better_ remember this!”

“You will,” Victor reassured him and stepped closer to him again. “We… We can meet, once you’re better.”

“I thought you said my mind was already better?”

“I meant your body.”

“Right.”

They were simply staring at each other, the house around them slowly disappearing into whiteness as Stark’s consciousness started to struggle to awaken.

“Well, I’ll come around,” Stark finally said.

“Don’t blow up anything.”

“Ha, the irony of _you_ saying that!”

“There is none.”

“Thank you.”

“And you—What?”

Stark offered him a small, sincere smile: “Thank you. I believe it is appropriate to say your thanks at such an occasion?”

He disappeared before Victor could reply, so he also missed the responding smile that grew and grew on his face until it was almost too big for his cheeks to contain.

"Until we meet again," he said, and let the whiteness claim him.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked it :D


End file.
